


Cold in Your Bones

by maychorian



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Depression, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Insecurity, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian
Summary: An encounter with an alien culture's justice system leaves Lance deeply shaken and questioning some of the most important relationships in his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beware Season Two spoilers below.
> 
> So yeah, I wasn't sure how long it was gonna take me to absorb the new season and start formulating plots based on the new information. Turned out it was about a day. I woke up Sunday morning with this story in my head. A lot of it was inspired by [this collection of art,](http://maychorian.tumblr.com/post/156225871401/anetteloli-cosumosu-filling-the-empty-spaces) if you want something specific to blame. Also apparently I am not done writing Lance with hypothermia. The irony just...does something for me.
> 
> I don't know how many chapters this will be. I expect it to be relatively short, but I've been wrong before. (So, so wrong.) Anyway, you're getting two right away, isn't that nifty?

"Blue? Can you hear me? Blue?"

Lance was panting. He stood in the corner of the cell, reaching out with his hands pressed on both walls. He could only do it for a few seconds; the ice was so cold that it quickly began to bite into his skin. He pulled his hands back and tucked them under his armpits, fighting down a shiver, and stared glassily at the blue-white walls that surrounded him.

"Blue? Please?" 

At first he had shouted. When they shut him in here, he'd been raging, ranting about how this was a mistake, he hadn't meant to do it, and anyway it was a stupid rule, he hadn't done anything wrong, so what if he'd touched their dumb high priestess, it was an _accident._ He hadn't meant to disrespect their traditions. He hadn't meant to commit a crime. 

He hadn't even been hitting on her. Well, barely. He had complimented her. Lance complimented every lady he met. But she was older, closer to his mom's age than Allura's. Not that that meant anything to Lance, of course. Age was no object to beauty, and beauty came from within. But he'd kept in mind Shiro's warnings before they came down to the planet about how he should reel in his more annoying tendencies, and Lance had tried. He _had._

What had he even said? Lance began to pace the cell again. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms and shook his head. It was hard to focus. What was it? Something about how she was lovely, a paragon of virtue and beauty. He had bowed to her, reached out...

And his hand had barely brushed her skin before two guards suddenly bull-rushed him and knocked him clean over. Lance landed on the floor, stunned and winded, and couldn't react as they dragged him to his feet and hauled him away. At first he struggled, trying to wrench back, yelling over his shoulder at his teammates still in the entrance hall where they'd been meeting the planetary leaders. Shiro had looked shocked and embarrassed, and Allura was talking rapid-fire to the priestess, her body language wincing and apologetic. Lance couldn't even see the others as they rounded a corner and his last glimpse of the entrance hall was cut off.

Eventually one of the guards had tired of his continued shouting and swiped him across the face so hard he saw stars. Lance shut up. The guard told him gruffly that he had committed the high crime of sullying the priestess with his touch and must now be punished. Once Lance regained some equilibrium, he protested, loudly. But they locked him in this cell without another word and left him here to shout.

After a while, he'd given up on trying to convince the Ustarese that it was wrong to put him in here and started yelling for Shiro and Allura instead. Surely they knew this had been mistake. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was a paladin of Voltron. He was important. He had a job to do. He was supposed to be out there fighting, not locked in an ice cell for some stupid trangression he didn't even understand.

He paced harder, stomping his feet into the ice. The paladins hadn't worn their armor for this trip. It was supposed to be just a meet-and-greet, with the potential for creating an alliance later. Lance wracked his brain, trying to remember everything he'd learned in the briefings before they came planetside. He paid attention to those. Well, usually. Maybe his mind had wandered a little. But he knew it was important. Allura always made that really clear. If someone had mentioned a rule about not touching the priestess, surely he would have remembered.

Or maybe not. Maybe he had zoned out for that part. Lance blew out a miserable breath and rubbed his arms. The cold was starting to ache in his bones.

Or maybe things had changed in the last ten thousand years. It wouldn't be the first time that Allura and Coran's outdated information about the universe ended up causing problems for them. Wouldn't even be the first time it had caused problems for Lance in particular. He just seemed to have the bad luck to walk straight into dangerous situations no matter where they could be found.

After he'd tired of yelling for Shiro and Allura, Lance started calling for Blue, instead. It was a last resort. He knew it would cause problems if a giant mechanical lion came to get him out. Red had nearly destroyed an allied base when Keith was in danger, after all, and those allies had hardly been pleased, either. Lance didn't want to cause problems, he really didn't.

But he was _cold._ He was shaking so hard that it hurt, and he could barely feel his hands. Ironic for the Blue Paladin to be suffering so much from the cold. Blue used an ice blast, and she was powerful in water, yet here her pilot was, unable to stand a lower temperature than was normal for his species.

Then again, this was... _really_ low. The cell was made of ice, for pity's sake. Most of the building where they'd been meeting the Ustarese had seemed pretty normal, if a bit chilly. So why was the prison apparently built into a glacier? Lance's brain was starting to shut down, but had Allura and Coran mentioned...the Ustarese were...they came from...

No. He couldn't remember. Lance paced harder, but it didn't seem to be helping. "Blue," he called again, voice a hoarse plea. "Come for me. Please, please come. I'm s-so cold. I need you, beautiful."

He didn't understand what was taking so long. Red always came for Keith. He usually didn't have to call her, either. Whenever he was in trouble, lost in space or hurt on a planet or trapped in a base somewhere, Red was just there, scooping him up or blasting things down. Come to think of it, wow, Keith got into trouble a lot.

Not to mention the fact that Keith had gotten to pilot the black lion, too, even though it had only been to save Shiro. How cool did Keith need to be? Wasn't he cool enough already? Yeah, when Lance had first heard the story, he'd been a little jealous. Okay, maybe a lot.

But he had always figured that if he ever needed help, Blue would be right there, just like Red was for Keith. His bond with Blue had to be at least as strong as theirs. After all, he'd met Blue first, hadn't he? He was the first one to get chosen, the first one... Plus, Lance was awesome at bonding with people. No one could resist him, let alone a giant robot lion who had actually _picked_ him from a group of four other people, all of whom were amazing in their own ways. His and Blue's bond had to be spectacular.

It had to be.

Right?

"Blue, p-please..." It was getting hard to walk around. His feet felt sluggish and slow, and his tears were starting to freeze on his cheeks. Lance wrapped his arms around his torso as hard as he could and squeezed, trying to imagine that it was Hunk giving him a big warm hug. It didn't work. He was...so cold.

He forgot about trying to convince the Ustarese to let him go. Forgot about calling Allura and Shiro to come for him. Everything else faded from his mind, which was getting fuzzy and whited-out, anyway. All he could think about was Blue. All he wanted was his lion to save him.

He couldn't walk anymore. Lance felt himself sinking to his knees. His shoes provided some insulation from the icy floor, his jeans not quite as much. But he couldn't drag himself up. He knelt there, bent over himself with his face pressed to his thighs, arms still clenched around his belly as if he was trying to hold in his own guts. He was shaking so hard he could barely think.

"Blue." It was a faint murmur, muffled in his jeans. "Blue, I need you, I need you, please..."

It was useless. He was useless. He didn't matter. No one cared. They'd left him here to die, and no one cared. He was going to freeze here, poor little tropical boy trapped in an ice cave far, far away from home. He was never going to see his family again. Never going to see his team again. Never going to fly with Blue again. He wasn't needed, and he wasn't wanted.

His chest ached. He wanted to be wanted. He wanted to be needed. He wanted to be useful. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't help being a screw-up. It was just who he was. Always crashing the simulator, annoying his teammates, insulting the priestess. He didn't mean to. He just did. It was who he was. Useless, annoying, unimportant.

"Blue, please. Please..."

He cried, and it was so pathetic that it made him cry more. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he be strong? Why couldn't he just be _better?_

It hurt. After awhile, it didn't hurt quite as much. Lance toppled over on his side, but he barely felt it. He barely felt anything.

Hands. Voices. Lance wanted to flinch from the burning touch, but he didn't have the energy to move. Hunk was there, hauling him up, pulling Lance into his arms. Lance fell limp against his broad, warm chest, unable to react.

"Lance, Lance!" Hunk sounded so scared. Lance was sorry for that, in a distant way. He didn't want Hunk to be scared. That wasn't fair. A big, warm hand cupped around his cheek, and a thumb swiped under his eye, trying to rub away the crust of frozen tears. "Lance, please open your eyes. Please, buddy. Can you look at me? Please."

It didn't feel good when you begged and someone didn't answer. Lance didn't want that for Hunk. He tried. It seemed to take every last drop of energy he had, but he forced his eye open. Hunk hovered above him, a big round blur of a friendly brown face, surrounded by blue-tinged white. 

"Hunk..." It hurt to talk. His lips hurt. He did it anyway. "She didn't come."

Hunk squeezed him tighter. "Sorry about that, buddy. Allura's still talking to the Ustarese. We know you were yelling for her. She was really sorry she couldn't get to you right away. She wanted to."

"No." It was as much a groan as it was a word. Lance let his eye fall shut, and another tear slipped out, hot enough to burn. Hunk wiped it away before it could cool on his skin. "She didn't come. She didn't come."

Hunk made a noise of distress and hefted Lance up in his arms so his face was pressed into his chest, hidden against his bulk. Lance let himself be manhandled, mainly because he couldn't help it. Hunk was still too hot, too close, and it hurt. But it was a good hurt. Lance knew he needed to warm up, no matter how much it burned. At least Hunk cared about him, even if no else did. Lance tried to grasp Hunk's shirt in his frozen fingers, but when Hunk rolled to his feet, hauling him up in his arms, Lance's weak grip was dislodged.

What followed was a blur. A bright, hot, painful blur. Of course they couldn't use the cryo-pod to treat hypothermia and incipient frostbite, but the Alteans had other methods. Lance had a fuzzy impression of a pool of steaming water, his head cradled in Coran's arms as his entire body shook violently, then being wrapped in heated cloth that made him whimper and moan. Everything hurt so much that the pain wiped out almost everything else, but he was pretty sure he babbled at times, delirious and sweating, blurting out apologies and confessions and begging for forgiveness. The redeeming factor was that only Coran and Hunk seemed to be there to hear him, and Lance knew he could trust them with his deepest, darkest, most _useless_ self.

When it was over, Lance was so tired he could barely see. The cessation of pain was a relief approaching euphoria, and he felt like he was floating in a cloud of down. There was a sensation of being lifted, Hunk's deep warm voice rumbling around him. He cracked his eyes, caught a glimpse of the hallway, his own room. Then he was being bundled into bed. Hunk's big, warm hand pressed over his forehead, but it didn't hurt this time. Lance closed his eyes again, and everything faded.


	2. Chapter 2

Hunk was worried about Lance. This was not exactly an abnormal state of affairs. Hunk worried about a lot of things, and Lance was often near the top of the list. But this was...more than usual.

After the incident with the Ustarese, Lance was subdued. This wasn't particularly surprising. Hunk still shuddered when he remembered the way Lance's cries had echoed around the Ustarese government house when he was locked up in that ice cell. Apparently it was part of their justice system that anyone awaiting sentence would be able to hear the pained cries of those currently being punished. But coming from Lance, it had been absolutely chilling. No pun intended.

After Lance gave up on persuading the Ustarese to free him, he kept yelling for Shiro and Allura, his voice getting increasingly panicked and desperate as time went on. Eventually, Hunk had had to put his hands over Pidge's ears so she couldn't hear it anymore, her own hands clamped against her head beneath his palms. Worse had been when Lance went too quiet for them to hear. They knew he was still talking; they could hear the tone of his voice, low and despairing, but they couldn't hear the words anymore. And when he went completely silent...

The entire thing was a mess. The Ustarese physiology tolerated cold much better than human, it turned out. Being locked in sub-zero conditions was painful for them, as suited their brutal justice system, but they recovered in moments once they were released. But Lance... Lance had almost died.

It was no wonder he was traumatized. The next day, while Lance was sitting curled up on a sofa in the lounge wrapped in his jacket with the hood drawn tight, Allura had tried to mitigate it. She sat next to him and looked into his eyes and apologized for the bad intel, for the fact that they hadn't known that Lance's natural inclinations could lead to such a disastrous result. Lance stared at her blankly, barely reacting.

She even reached out and squeezed his hand, which under normal circumstances would have ignited all of Lance's horn-dog tendencies and sent him into an ecstasy of flirting and crowing. But this time he only smiled, small and faint, and apologized in return, taking all the blame on himself. It was his fault, after all, for intruding on a culture without learning about their current mores. He would take care to be more circumspect in the future. Allura frowned, but she couldn't argue with his reasoning.

No one was surprised when Lance refused the invitation to come back down to the planet and meet with the Ustarese again. Once the planetary leaders had been convinced that Lance's mistake had been innocent, and that locking him up in those temperatures had almost killed him, they had been apologetic. At least some of them. Others hadn't been so easy to sway, and Hunk did not want to expose Lance to their judgmental gazes, not when he was feeling so fragile. He needed time to recover in more ways than one.

Turned out they didn't really need Ustar in the Voltron Alliance, anyway. Or so Allura had decided after a couple of days of talks, as their demands kept outstripping the use of the resources they could offer. In the end, Allura stomped back to the ship and started up the wormhole with tight lips and fiery eyes, shaking her head whenever someone asked her what the final straw had been. They'd been leaving it up to Allura, after the incident with Lance soured the planet for them, so no one had any problem with her decision.

It just made it even worse, though, that Lance had been wounded in a fruitless quest for something useless. 

Because yeah, Lance was wounded now. Hunk couldn't think of a better way to describe it. He moved more slowly around the castle, and he didn't talk as much. He still joked and boasted and quarrelled with Keith at any time for any reason, but there was strain in his voice. And he always kept his jacket closed and the hood up, as he was trying to protect himself from something. Hunk wasn't sure if the others had noticed something was off, but he certainly had.

So far it hadn't affected their ability to form Voltron, at least. When the time came, Lance was able to buckle down and dismiss whatever was bothering him internally, at least for a while. In fact, when they were fighting was when he seemed to come the most alive, yelling and bragging and revelling in his ability to take on the foe. Hunk was tempted to use those moments of psychic bonding to try to dig into Lance's head hole and figure out what was troubling him, but he didn't want to ruin the balance. Plus, he was pretty busy during those times.

Hunk left it alone for a while. Lance was resilient. He might bounce back on his own. And if not... Well, Hunk had learned that Lance could be like a cat, sometimes. If he chased him down and demanded something Lance wasn't ready to give, he might curl up tight, put his ears back, and hiss. But if Hunk waited, eventually Lance might come and open up on his own. It had worked in the past.

Hunk was starting to get nervous. It had been a while and Lance still hadn't come. He seemed to spend most of his downtime in the bays hanging out with Blue. And well, he'd always done that before, but it had gotten to be kind of obssessive lately.

Then one night it happened. Hunk was sitting at his workbench fidding with a bunch of small wires and tiny crystals, trying to integrate an amplification circuit into an Altean radio. He was hoping to pick up signals in space on a small device, just for fun. He thought he was making progress, but he wasn't sure at the moment. He might have to ask Coran for more of these little red doohickeys.

Hunk heard a scuff at the door and glanced back. Lance stood there, hands in his pockets and hood pulled over his head, as usual. He looked half-asleep, like he wasn't sure what he was doing. Hunk smiled and looked back to the bench, afraid to alert Lance to where he was. Lance shuffled over to Hunk and sat down sideways behind him on the floor, curling up with the side of his head resting on Hunk's upper back. And he let out a sigh, then relaxed into Hunk's warmth.

Hunk felt himself relaxing at the touch, too. It was nice to have Lance back, even if it wasn't quite all the way. "What's going on, buddy?" he asked softly, still sorting through his wires and crystals.

Lance heaved a sigh that Hunk felt along the whole length of his back. "'Snot working," he mumbled. "I don't know what to do."

"What's not working?" Hunk asked. "Something I can help with?"

"I don't think so." Lance's voice was morose. "I think it's something I gotta figure out on my own, but I'm so _tired._ I don't want to give up, but..." He sighed again. "I just wish I could stop feeling this way for a while. I want a break."

A lump rose in Hunk's throat, and his hands stilled on his materials. He stared straight ahead, trying not to move in a way that would dislodge Lance, possibly make him realize what he was doing so he could stand up and run away. "What are you tired of, buddy?"

"Just...this. Trying. Fighting. Being cold. I'm tired of being cold."

"Because of space? It's cold in space, you know. Kind of a given."

"No, not space. Just...being outside." Hunk felt Lance moving, like he was gesturing with his hands, trying to describe what he meant without words. "Being outside the circle."

"Hmm." Hunk rubbed his finger beneath his nose, trying to think, to put together the words. Well, no time like the present. "Do you think you might be a little depressed?" He spoke as softly as he could and just hoped that Lance had the wherewithal to answer.

"Yeah, a little. I haven't been hungry much lately, and I'm always so cold and tired."

Hunk was heartened, both that Lance could recognize that about himself and that he was willing to share. He had noticed that Lance had been off his feed lately, that he was starting to look a little pale and shaky. Much longer like this and Shiro or Allura would have intervened, he was sure, if only for the good of the team. But it was better that Lance had been able to express it on his own.

"Is it about what happened on Ustar?"

This was the big one. Lance was quiet for a long, long moment, and Hunk bit his lip, hoping that he hadn't pushed too hard. 

But Lance leaned his head a little harder on Hunk's back and stayed where he was. "Yeah." A quiet admission, soft and ashamed. Hunk would do anything to take that shame away. 

He remembered the way Lance had babbled when his body was recovering from hypothermia, delirious and uncontrolled, an outpouring of words that usually made little sense. What Hunk had understood, though, was that Lance was sorry, it was his fault, he didn't mean it, he would take it back if he could, please forgive him, he wanted to be good. He wanted to be better, he wanted to be an asset, he wanted to do his part. It had been heartbreaking to listen to, horrible in a way. 

If the Ustarese justice system was meant to make their criminals repent, it had certainly succeeded with Lance. By torturing him nearly to death, but yeah, they had gotten what they'd wanted. A broken young warrior begging like a child for the pain to stop.

All Hunk could do was sigh. "I'm sorry, buddy. You didn't deserve that."

Lance sniffled. "I kind of did."

"No." They were both a bit startled by the vehemence in Hunk's voice. He sat still for a moment, blinking ahead. Lance had gone still against his back, but Hunk could feel him trembling. With cold, or something else.

This was too important. Hunk pushed the mobile bench a few inches away and slowly shuffled around, putting his hand on Lance's arm to support him as soon as he could reach back far enough. He ended up still sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing Lance and holding his shoulders in his hands in a strong, careful grip. Lance blinked at him, drooping where he sat, and the bags under his eyes were big enough to smuggle candy into a theater.

Hunk tried to smile, but it dropped off his face almost immediately, so he gave it up as a bad job. "That wasn't your fault, Lance. You didn't deserve to almost die just because you violated a cultural taboo."

Lance's eyebrows raised in tired surprise. "Um. I know that. Their response was way over the top."

Hunk nodded. "Okay. I'm glad you know that." He squeezed Lance's shoulders, then just sat there for a moment, studying him. Quiznak, the guy really did look peaky. 

Hunk didn't know what to do about Lance being depressed, about him feeling like he was "outside the circle," whatever that meant. But there was something else he could fix, certainly. Something he was good at fixing.

Decision made, he climbed to his feet, then reached down a hand for Lance. "Come on, let's go."

Lance blinked at his hand, then looked up at his face. He didn't move. "Where?"

"To the kitchen, of course." Hunk shook his hand in the air, waiting for Lance to latch on.

"I told you I'm not hungry, dude."

Hunk snorted. "You think that's gonna stop me from feeding you? Especially when you're looking like _that?_ C'mon. You should know me better by now."

Lance hesitated for a moment longer, but a fleeting smile curled up the corner of his mouth, and he clasped Hunk's hand, palm to palm. Hunk pulled him to his feet, then put an arm around his shoulders and herded him to the kitchen. It took some effort to get Lance to eat—Hunk resorted to hand-feeding him the first few bites—but it was a start. 

Sometimes Hunk didn't know what to do. But he could do this. If he could help, even a little bit, it was worth every effort.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad the mice have names now.

Hunk had started dragging Lance to join them at every meal, which was a marginal improvement, Pidge thought. She had been on the verge of chasing Lance down and sitting on him in order to make him eat, and she knew Keith wasn't far behind her. They had all been deeply disturbed by the events on Ustar, but they had tried to give Lance space to recover. Their patience had been almost at an end when Hunk made his move.

It was only a marginal improvement because Lance still wasn't eating enough. He might have thought that he was fooling Hunk, but Pidge was a little more suspicious. She didn't miss the way Lance kept sneaking food off his plate and feeding it the mice, who seemed to love him more than ever these days. Especially the big one, Platt. And no, Pidge wasn't jealous. The mice liked her just fine, thank you. She just wanted Lance to stop looking so sad and tired all the time, and his refusal to consume enough calories was probably contributing.

The pink mouse, Chuchule, climbed up on Pidge's shoulder for a better view of the table, nose and whiskers twitching. Pidge turned her head to give her new shoulder companion a smile, then went back to watching Lance with narrowed eyes. He seemed to feel her gaze on him and gave her a guilty glance, then turned his eyes back down to his food. He picked another chunk of tuber-whatever off his plate and set it on the table where Platt was already waiting like he was sitting at a table at a gourmet restaurant.

Pidge opened her mouth to say something. Probably something snarky and ill-advised. But Lance's eyes widened in alarm, and he spoke first.

"Hey, Pidgeykins. You have any plans this evening?"

Pidge snapped her mouth shut. Then she opened it again, cautiously. "Nothing...in particular. Why do you ask?"

"I thought maybe we could play video games. I know we haven't done it for a while. Sorry about that. So are you free?"

Pidge slumped in her seat. She exchanged a glance with Hunk, who stared back at her with wide eyes, almost begging. Well, of _course_ she was _going to._

She looked back to Lance and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, awesome! It's been awhile."

She didn't miss the relief in Lance's smile. "Okay, cool. I'll bring snacks."

"Great." Lance was the second best cook on the ship for human sensibilities, so whatever he brought would probably be delicious.

But when he showed up at her bedroom door later that night holding a plate, it was with hunched shoulders and an apologetic smile. "Ah, sorry. I let my attention drift and forgot to set a timer, and..."

Pidge leaned over to sniff the plate, forehead wrinkled. "Are these...cookies?"

Lance nodded. "Yeah, Hunk finally perfected his recipe, and I'd been wanted to try it out. Sorry I ruined it."

"They're not ruined." Pidge picked up one circular disk and turned it back and forth, her hand on her chin. "Yeah, the edges are a little black, but I think we can scrape it off."

"They're not quite the right shade of blue. I'm not sure if they're edible."

"We'll feed them to Platt first. He'll let us know."

Pidge grabbed Lance's arm and hauled him over to her video game set-up. She was quite proud of it, now. There was the big monitor on the wall, the console with Hunk's jerry-rigged bundle of cords, a short stack of game disks, and the Altean equivalent of beanbag chairs for maximum lounging. The mice were already waiting there, perched on the top of the monitor and the console and watching them come. The green one, Plachu, scampered over to sniff the stack of games, then began to push one out of the middle.

Pidge grinned and bent over to pick up the game as it landed on the floor. "Oh, you want us to play this one tonight? Cool." She held it up and wiggled it in the air for Lance's inspection, and he nodded affably.

"I think Plachu likes the gory ones."

"Yeah, I've noticed that," Pidge said thoughtfully. She popped the game into the console, then picked up the Player One controller and flopped stomach-down on a beanbag.

Lance set his plate of cookies in the middle of the floor, between them both, then picked up the other controller and sat on his own beanbag. He held the controller with one hand and leaned over to pick up a cookie and offer it to Platt with the other.

Platt greeted the cookie, which was twice as big as he was, with open arms. He had to sit back on his haunches and hold it on the edges with both paws, one end near his mouth and the other resting on the floor. He began to eat, ears flicking happily. Pidge and Lance watched him carefully for any sign of rejection, but Platt seemed happy with the cookie. Which wasn't always a _perfect_ sign that the food was good, since Platt would eat pretty much anything, including Coran's paladin specialties. But surely he would reject anything that was actually poisonous.

Pidge picked up a cookie and knocked it against the floor to dislodge as many of the blackened bits as possible, the took a nibble. "It's really not bad," she said around a mouthful of somewhat too-crunchy cookie. "Aren't you gonna eat any?"

Lance eyed the plate with doubt. It was now surrounded with Chuchule, Plachu, and Chulatt as well. All of the mice seemed perfectly happy with their treats. "I'm not sure there's enough for me," he said slowly.

"Of course there is." Pidge picked up a cookie and reached over...way over, curse her short arms...to place it carefully on his knee. "Eat that. You have to, or I'll never trust your cooking again."

He gave her a narrow-eyed look, perhaps suspecting that she was manipulating him, but eventually he picked up the cookie and took a bite. "...Okay, it's not inedible," he admitted. He put it back down on his knee and focused on the monitor. "But are we gonna play this game or not? I'm your Number One Player Two, aren't I?"

Pidge laughed. It was good to have Lance back, even if he wasn't quite himself yet. "Yeah, you are. Let's get this party started."

They played the story mode for a while, moving through the levels while the mice watched and ate cookies, occasionally cheering in their squeaky little voices when Pidge or Lance landed a good hit on a monster. Eventually the illogic of the plot started to make Pidge's head hurt, though, so they went back to the home screen and chose the fight mode. That was more relaxing, the two of them just constantly picking new characters and waling on each other. Pidge fell into the rhythm of it, her fingers finding the buttons as she needed them.

Lance seemed to be relaxing more, too. He had moved to sit in front of his beanbag and was leaning back against it loosely, his legs straight in front of him. Once the cookies were gone, Chulatt and Platt climbed up in his lap and fell asleep, while Chuchule and Plachu took their spots on Pidge's shoulders. Plachu was still watching the fighting with great interest, while Chuchule curled up in a pink fuzzy ball and napped, tiny breaths whispering pleasantly over Pidge's neck.

Pidge tried to think of a tactful way to ask the question that had been perching at the forefront of her brain since Lance first spoke up at supper, but tact had never been her strong suit. So, finally, when Lance looked as relaxed as he was going to get, she just let it come out. "Is there a particular reason you wanted to do this tonight?"

Lance said nothing, but on the screen, his character froze for a moment. Pidge got in three good hits before he regained control and started fighting back again. "Nah," he said, deliberately casual. "Just wanted to spend some time with my favorite gremlin, that's all."

Pidge tried not to smile, but she couldn't help it. Lance's voice was just too fond. "I missed you, you know," she said softly.

"I missed you too. Sorry I haven't been around much."

Pidge sighed and hunched forward, though she made an effort not to dislodge her shoulder mice. "I get it. Ustar was rough on you. You needed time to...get your head on straight."

Lance said nothing. In the game, the current fight ended, and they were back to the character selection screen. Pidge started whipping through the choices, but Lance just sat there, the controller loose in his hands. Pidge picked her new character and flipped through the color schemes. She felt like maybe...pink, this time. In Chuchule's honor.

Lance looked over at her, so slowly and carefully that she was compelled to look back. His eyes were dark and serious in the shadows of the room, only the monitor shedding light his face. "What did it feel like? When you made that really deep connection with Green, and all of sudden you could fly faster and harder, and form the weapon that saved all of us, plus a whole planet full of people?"

Pidge looked back at him. She couldn't help frowning. "Probably the same way it felt when you deepened your bond with Blue and made the sonic weapon for the first time. You saved a whole planet, too, if you don't remember. I don't see how you could have forgotten. You and Hunk wouldn't stop bragging about it."

Lance shook his head. "Yeah, but you could feel Green on like...a molecular level. Right? You kept going on about how everything was connected, how we were all cosmic dust. You must have felt something really deep and powerful, didn't you?"

Pidge set her controller down in her lap and reached up to adjust her glasses. "Yeah, I guess. Part of what I said was just repeating what the Olkari told me. But in that moment... Yeah, it did feel really, really, super deep and powerful. It was like I _understood_ my lion, all the way down to the deepest heart of her. It was...really awesome. I can't explain it, except with metaphors that don't really capture the full experience."

Lance nodded, staring forward at the screen. Pidge watched his face. She didn't understand this...this _sadness._ Why was he so sad? Usually talking about the lions made him proud and happy, not sad. Did it have something to do with Ustar?

"You...you felt it too, didn't you?" she asked softly. "When you made the sonic weapon with Blue. You must have felt it."

Lance was quiet. Then he set the controller down in his lap and rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know," he muttered. "I don't...I'm not sure about a lot of things lately, Pidge. Sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the fun game night."

"You're not ruining anything." Pidge considered. Then she put her controller down on the floor and carefully stood up, making sure that Plachu and Chuchule kept their perches. She dragged her beanbag over to Lance's, then sat in front of it, only a few inches from him. He let his head fall back on the bag behind him and rolled his head over to look at her, and ugh, the dark patches under his eyes were terrible. She'd never seen them this bad. Lance usually took much better care of his skin.

"Do you want to sleep here tonight?" Pidge asked. "It's late. I can go get a blanket from the closet. The beanbags are pretty comfortable."

Lance blinked. "Really? I thought your room was sacrosanct and you only let people in on your terms, and then only for a limited time. I thought it was special enough you let me in to play video games with you."

Pidge pulled in a breath. "You just look...really tired, man. Really, really tired. If you don't want to move right now, you don't have to."

"Oh." Lance's hands had been resting in his lap, absently petting Platt and Chulatt. Now all of a sudden he raised his right hand and covered his eyes. His mouth screwed up, and Pidge knew that he was fighting tears. His left hand rose, too, to cover the bottom half of his face. He was trying not to let her see him cry. Who knew such a simple kindness could make Lance cry?

Pidge shifted awkwardly, but she didn't take it back. "I'll...go get that blanket."

Before she moved, Chuchule and Plachu scampered across the beanbags to curl up on Lance's shoulders instead. Pidge was fine with that. She went to the closet and rummaged around until she found her biggest, softest, fuzziest blanket. She had scavenged the lower storage decks for _hours_ before she found this one and confiscated it for her own use. When she came back, Lance was stretched out over the beanbags, his eyes closed, all four of the mice cuddled up in a pile next to his head.

Pidge spread the blanket over him, then reached out and gently brushed the hair back from his forehead. "Sleep well, Lance," she whispered. His forehead wrinkled, but he didn't open his eyes.

Pidge turned off the game console, then the monitor. The light winked out, leaving only the illumination strips at the bottom of the wall to keep her from stubbing her toes on her way to bed. Lance slept, and Pidge could only hope it was a good one. She hoped that he felt completely safe and utterly warm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mood music.](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=qQrgto184Tk#Imagine_Dragons_-_Shots)
> 
> Sorry for all the italics. The boys were very dramatic today.

"C'mon." Lance popped to his feet, fighting for breath. He fell into a fighting stance and waved his hand at Keith, beckoning him. "Let's go again."

Keith scowled. He wasn't out of breath at all, even though they'd been sparring for upwards of twenty minutes. "No. We're done for today."

"What?" An indignant squawk. Lance straightened and gave him a look of intense hurt and confusion, which was somewhat spoiled by the way his chest heaved inside his armor. "I can't believe this. Keith is turning down a fight? Are you kidding me?"

"I'm turning down a fight with _you,"_ Keith retorted. "Because you look terrible. Seriously, have you even glanced in a mirror lately?"

Lance gasped in outrage and placed a hand over his chest. "How _dare_ you. I'm _insulted."_

Keith snorted as he turned away. The corner of his mouth turned up, but he hid it with angle of his body and strode over to the wall to fetch his water pouch. That almost sounded like the old Lance. It had been a while.

"Keith, Keith." Lance was trotting after him. "C'mon. Fight with me." He reached out to punch Keith's shoulder, and Keith turned on instinct and deflected the blow. A little too hard, maybe. Lance backed up with a hiss and shook his hand in the air to dispel the shock.

Keith's mouth turned down in remorse. "Sorry. But this it, okay? No more today."

"Okay, but _why?"_ It was a high whine. Lance spread his stance, fists clenched at his sides. "You never used to get tired of beating me up. What is up with you lately?"

Keith turned to face him fully and sucked on his straw. "You're not in good condition right now," he said bluntly. Sometimes you just had to tell the truth. "Your hands are shaking. Are you so used to it that you didn't even notice?"

Lance looked down at his hands in surprise, as if they had betrayed him, then stood straight and jammed them under his armpits, elbows jutting out like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Stop acting like you're worried about me," he spat. "You're not my leader anymore. That only lasted for like five minutes anyway."

A flash of anger had Keith lowering his water pouch and forcibly repressing a snarl. It was true that he had only had to lead Voltron for a very short time while Shiro was temporarily gone, thankfully. He had disliked the job and had been happy to give it back to its rightful owner. And it was true that the time had affected him, even so. He had gotten used to looking at his teammates more carefully, making sure they were okay, trying to look out for them even when they weren't looking out for themselves. Maybe he wouldn't be quite so sensitive to Lance's condition now if he hadn't had that experience.

But he didn't understand this petulance coming from Lance right now. It was as if he was trying to get under Keith's skin by the shortest route available. "Why are you being like this?" he asked, unable to push back the heat rising in his voice. "Why are you pushing so hard?"

Something snapped. Lance's face reddened, which looked terrible against the bruised rings around his eyes, and he flung his arms out to the side. "I'm just trying to make myself better! Or is that not something you would understand, wonderful Keith, fantastic Keith, _perfect_ Keith?" The words were ground out like insults, harsh and loud and grating. "Keith with the fastest lion, the sharpest instincts, best pilot of his generation, groomed for leadership on Earth and in space and probably _everywhere freaking else too?"_

"All right, fine." Keith had had enough of this childishness. He dropped his water pouch and fell into a crouch. "Come at me, then, you big baby."

It was over in a moment. Lance rushed at him, even more out of balance than before with his emotions raging the way they were. Keith grabbed him, flipped him, and pinned him against the wall. Lance raged against the hold for a few moments, trying to get free, then suddenly went limp, panting.

His head was down. Keith let go of him as gently as he could and stepped back several feet, watching him. His heart was in his throat. He had gone too hard. The sound of Lance's back slamming into the wall still echoed in his ears. It was just...too easy for Lance to provoke him.

He had done it on purpose, hadn't he? And he'd succeeded. He'd been trying to make Keith angry so he would fight him, and Keith had fallen for it as usual.

Keith really wasn't cut out for leadership. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Lance..." _Are you okay?_ never left his lips.

"Don't," Lance snapped. He looked up at Keith, his eyes hard and fiery. Keith had thought he was crying, but his face was dry. "Don't act all concerned about me. I'm _fine._ I brought this on myself, didn't I?"

Keith grit his teeth, but he refused to rise to the bait. He took a step closer, forced his voice to be calm. "I _am_ concerned about you. I'm allowed to be. We're teammates. Whether you asked for it or not, I'm still not okay with you hurting."

Lance bared his teeth in an awful grimace. It looked like he was choking on something invisible. "Don't...don't lie to me like this."

Keith halted. He was truly baffled. "Like what? What am I saying that sounds like a lie?"

"That you're _worried_ about me. That you _care."_

Keith started to react to the hostility in Lance's tone, but then he held himself still. He listened. He looked in Lance's face. Did...did he really think that Keith didn't care about him? Did he really think...?

It wasn't anger filling Keith's heart now. It was pain.

This was about Ustar, wasn't it? Oh, quiznak. Suddenly it all began to make a horrible amount of sense.

Keith took a step closer, then another one. Something was rising in him. Pain and guilt and fear. And anger, yes, but not anger at Lance. Anger at an object that was too far away for him to fight. "Of course I care about you!" He was yelling, and he knew it sounded like fury. He knew it sounded bad. He'd never been good at expressing his emotions, but they were all pouring out now, they were all overflowing, and wasn't it like Lance to do that, to provoke him again until he shattered like a badly tempered sword?

Lance went still against the wall. His face was stony, and he looked at Keith with narrowed eyes, his jaw firm and back straight. Keith stalked right up to him and got into his face. There was nothing else he could do.

"You're my teammate! You're my _friend!_ When they were hurting you on that planet, I wanted to run to where you were and knock the door down and get you out. I wanted to rescue you! It was all I wanted, it was _all..._ And then afterward, Hunk and Coran said you were physically okay, but you were so quiet, so sad, and Shiro said give you time, so I did, we all did, but I never stopped caring! I never stopped worrying about you! I never stopped, not even for a second! Why would you think that, you stupid, ridiculous, unbelievable _idiot?"_

Lance started to break down. His stony mask crumbled away, and he stared back at Keith with dismay and pain. And yes, there they were, the tears that Keith had known were hiding just under the surface. His chest was heaving again, this time not because of physical exertion.

"Then why..." His voice was broken, cracked, shot through with fissures, just like Keith's heart. Lance swallowed hard and tried again. "Why didn't you come for me? If you wanted to, why didn't you?"

Keith panted for a moment, trying to regain control. He felt almost dizzy with everything rushing through his body and his mind. He tried to hold himself steady, fists clenched in front of him. "At first we didn't know... We didn't know how serious it was. You sounded scared and freaked out, but we didn't realize... We didn't realize the cell was actually killing you. That it was hurting you. They said it was punishment, but that could have meant anything. Isolation, darkness. Something unpleasant, certainly, but not painful. Allura was trying to talk them out of it, and we all thought she could do it, so..."

Lance stared at him, his eyes still wide and continually leaking tears. It all started to sound like excuses to Keith's ears.

"I still wanted to go get you!" He had to say it, he had to make Lance understand, had to make him see... As the desperation in Lance's voice had risen, it had stoked the protective fire in Keith's chest to greater and greater heights. "Shiro was holding me back, he thought it would be okay, we all trusted Allura. There were so many guards. If we fought, we would have had to kill a lot of them, and any chance of making an alliance with the Ustarese would be gone. And then..."

Keith swallowed. Lance's face was still blank, uncomprehending. He didn't know what to say to get through to him.

"I swear to you, Lance, I _swear._ As soon as we knew what was actually happening, as soon as the priestess made some off-hand comment that explained what the cell really was, and Allura asked for clarification, and we all heard it... I swear, nothing could have stopped us after that. Nothing. Hunk was in the cell scooping you up not two minutes later. But I'm sorry, Lance. I..." He stopped, choking on the guilt. He heaved for breath and pressed a hand against his ribs. Everything ached. Everything hurt. "I'm sorry we didn't come earlier. I..."

Excuses. It all just sounded like excuses. Keith didn't know what else to say. Lance had suffered and almost died, and nothing he said could make up for that. Even now he was still suffering, still depressed and lonely, somehow struggling under the delusion that Keith didn't even care about him. And why should he think differently? What else had Keith ever showed him?

Enough. Words were useless. Keith had never been good at them, and they had failed him now. Instinct took over, and he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Lance as tight as he could.

Lance, of course, stiffened immediately and started babbling. "K-Keith? What...what are you doing? Is this some kind of sparring move? I don't...I don't know how to counter this, you haven't taught me this one, is there something I'm supposed to do?"

"Just shut up and let me hug you," Keith said.

"This is a hug?" Lance sounded so incredulous that Keith wanted to let go and knock some sense into him, but he denied that impulse and held on a little tighter instead. He reached one hand up and buried it in the hair on the back of Lance's head, and Lance suddenly softened in his arms.

Lance was struggling for breath a little, not enough to make Keith let go. "Is this...is this happening?" Soft, unbelieving, not entirely connected to reality. It had to be totally surreal for him to go from Keith yelling at him to this within the span of minutes.

"It's happening," Keith said as gently as he could. Which wasn't very, but he tried. "Now are you gonna hug me back or not?"

He put a touch of challenge into his voice, and Lance had never been able to take that lying down. Or standing up. His hands rose almost automatically and pressed against Keith's back, though Keith could feel them trembling. Lance stood still for a few seconds, breathing. And he pretty much melted.

Keith pressed Lance's head down to his shoulder and just held him. After a few seconds he started stroking his fingers through his hair. Lance sniffled, but didn't cry, not more than he already had. It was somewhat moist and uncomfortable, but Keith had initiated this, so he felt honor-bound to see it through.

After a bit, Lance started to draw back, and Keith let him go. He stood there and watched as Lance kept his head down, swiping at his eyes with his gloved fingers. Keith's heart still hurt pretty bad. He knew this hadn't fixed anything.

"You should talk to Shiro."

Lance looked up, blinking and disoriented. "What?"

"Talk to Shiro." Keith tried to make his tone more like a suggestion than a command, but from Lance's frown he could tell he'd failed. Keith shrugged. "I just...I think it will help."

Lance looked down and kicked his toe against the floor. "I don't want to bother him."

Keith grit his teeth. "Oh, for..." Lance flinched, and he stopped. Tried to reframe it again, shoulders slumping. "You're not bothering us, Lance. You're not bothering any of us. You know Hunk and Pidge care about you. Hopefully I proved that I care too, or we're gonna have to hug again, and I don't know if either of us can stand that right now. You really think Shiro doesn't? Out of all of us?"

Lance held still for a long moment, then shook his head, face still aimed at the floor. He drew a breath, then blew it out. "Okay. I'll talk to him. Later. I wanna...clean up first."

"You'd better," Keith said grimly. "Or I'll hunt you down. You know I will. Doesn't matter how tired you look then, I _will_ beat you into the floor."

Lance laughed, small and stuttering, then looked up at Keith and gave him a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Make sure you do."

"I will, jerk."

"Idiot."

Lance laughed again, a little more sincerely, and Keith smiled back. Everything hurt. Nothing was working. But maybe it wouldn't stay that way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is about one chapter left, possibly two.

Shiro kept meaning to talk to Lance. He really did. What had happened to him was horrible, unconscionable. And it had happened on Shiro's watch. As his leader, it was Shiro's responsibility to make sure that he was recovering as well and as quickly as possible.

But somehow he kept...putting it off. They had busy lives. There was always another battle to plan, another day of training to run. And Lance needed time to get himself in order without anyone intruding on him, surely. So Shiro watched from a distance as Lance withdrew, isolated himself, stopped showing up for meals. He kept his hood up, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground. He didn't talk as much. He still cracked jokes, looking for a reaction, still bragged and boasted on occasion, but it was all...perfunctory. Even his arguments with Keith lacked heat.

Shiro was grateful when the other paladins stepped in. They were helping, Shiro was sure of it. He also knew Coran talked to Lance once in a while, trying to get him to open up, but Lance always deflected him, turned it around until Coran was telling one of his stories before he realized that Lance had changed the subject. Allura, like Shiro, watched from a distance with her eyes full of guilt.

He told himself that as long as they could still form Voltron, as long as they could still fight and defend, then it wasn't really that bad. Lance's connection in the psychic link was always energetic, even a bit manic. Almost with a tinge of relief. As if...he felt like himself while he was working with everyone else. As if connecting with the other paladins took away his loneliness and pain, for a time.

This was guilt. Shiro saw how much pain Lance was in, and he blamed himself for it. And that made him do everything he could to avoid seeing it further. It was pure cowardice.

Once Shiro recognized that about himself, he knew he had to change it. He had to break through his own barriers, once again. Every day he woke up and told himself, "Today I'll talk to Lance." But he couldn't do it while the others were around, and when he saw Lance alone, in the hall or the training deck or the hangars, he always started to open his mouth, then stopped. And Lance didn't notice, his eyes always aimed at the floor the way they were now.

Shiro was in Black's hangar, looking up at the great lion. "Can't you help me out somehow?" He knew he sounded a little pathetic, a little sad, standing here begging a giant robot cat to help him with his interpersonal problems. But Black had helped him with a lot of things in the past, so he didn't mind asking again. "Can you give me a shot of...I don't know...mental adrenaline or something? Just to get me over the hump. Once I get started, I'm sure I can keep going. He's easy to talk to."

Black said nothing. But someone else did. "Um, Shiro?"

Shiro whipped his head over so fast that he almost gave himself a headache. Lance was standing in the doorway, his body language restrained and hesitant. His hood wasn't up at the moment, so perhaps he wasn’t feeling as vulnerable as usual, but his expression was nervous, eyebrows bent and mouth almost frowning. 

Shiro blew out a gust of breath. "Yeah, Lance?" He tried to make his voice as warm and as welcoming as possible. Maybe Black really was helping him out, somehow. "Something I can do for you?"

Lance visibly steeled himself, then took a step inside the hangar. He stopped, as if waiting for Shiro to rebuke him, but Shiro waved him forward instead. So he came, step by slow step, until he stood in front of him. He couldn't keep his eyes on Shiro's face, instead looking away at the floor on an angle. "I was wondering, um..."

"What is it, kiddo? I'd be glad to help you with anything." And that was true, Shiro told himself. That was true. He was scared and sad and almost choking on his own remorse, but he really did want to help Lance in any way that he could.

"How did..." Lance dared to look his face for a moment. "How did you strengthen your bond with the black lion?"

Shiro blinked, eyebrows rising. He hadn't expected this at all. "Uh, it was... It's kind of a long story, actually."

He winced internally, expecting Lance to feel rebuffed, but instead the kid looked at him straightforwardly. "Could you give me some tips, then? Just...some ideas. Something to work with. You don't hafta tell me the whole thing if you don't want to."

Shiro held still for a moment. This must be really important to Lance, for some reason. Otherwise he probably would have given up at the first hint of resistance. What was going on?

Shiro held still for a moment, then made a decision. "Let's sit down, okay? Let's talk about it."

"Sit down?" Lance looked around in confusion, but Shiro put a hand on his shoulder, ignoring Lance's tiny jump at the unexpected touch, and led him to the black lion's great metal paw. He saw down on the metal ridge, pulling Lance with him, and angled himself to face him. Lance looked around with wide eyes and mouth agape for a moment, seeming awed, but then he looked into Shiro's face again.

Shiro gave him a small smile. It was the best he could do with his heart aching like this. "Now, you want to tell me what's going on? Why do you need tips about strengthening your bond with Blue? The two of you always seem perfectly tight when we're working together as Voltron."

Lance's eyes sought the floor again. He wrapped his arms around his belly and shrugged. "I just...I know it can be stronger."

"Yes..." Shiro said slowly. "I suppose the bond can always be stronger."

Lance wasn't looking at him. Shiro pressed his lips together. He wanted to push further, to ask why Lance thought there was a problem. All of the paladins were tightly bonded to their lions now, in ways that sometimes astonished Coran and Allura. What had changed for Lance and Blue?

Lance looked so sad and closed-off, though, that Shiro didn't dare to do anything that might hurt him more. It was probably cowardice again, but he couldn't help it.

He tried a different tack. "What have you tried so far to strengthen the bond?"

Lance looked up at him, and Shiro was relieved. Apparently this was the right thing to ask. "I've been spending a lot of time with her. At least I was for a while, before I got kind of...um...tired." Lance bit his lip, then went on. "I didn't realize she had so many dings and scratches. I buffed those out, at least as many as I could reach, talked to her. Sang, sometimes. Cried, a couple of times. But nothing seems to be working. Everytime I tried to connect with her... It felt like I hit a mirror. I must not be doing it right."

Shiro's heart had clenched in his chest at the image of Lance in Blue's hangar, crying, alone, with a seemingly indifferent Blue. No wonder he'd gotten so depressed. But now he blinked in surprise. "A mirror? What do you mean by that?"

Lance looked down again. He was still for a moment, obviously struggling with himself, but he had come to Shiro for help, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get that help. So he huddled tighter into himself, his chin bent almost to his chest, and forced it out in a low voice that Shiro strained to hear. "All I feel from her... All I feel from her is what I feel from myself. Guilt. And sadness."

Shiro felt cold. It reminded him that at one time Lance had felt cold, too, immensely cold, deathly cold, and no one had answered his cries. He shuddered and tried to force it back. "Lance." It was a near whisper. "Why do you feel guilty?"

Lance seemed surprised by the question. He sent a quick glance at Shiro's face, eyebrows raised, then looked away again. "Because it was my fault."

And now Shiro knew what they were talking about. This was about Ustar. His heart fell to the floor. The statement was calm, factual. Lance believed it so firmly and absolutely that it didn't even bother him much to say it out loud. Shiro was stunned.

"Lance..." He wasn't sure what to say. How to fight this. He remembered how Lance had yelled at first, exactly the opposite of this. Yelling that it hadn't been his fault, it was just a mistake, he didn't deserve to be punished for it. Somehow, while Lance was suffering and almost dying in that horrible cell, he had changed his mind completely.

"Lance, it was just a mistake." Shiro felt almost desperate to convince him of this. "Yeah, you made a mistake, but you in no way deserved that kind of response. That wasn't your fault. It was the Ustarese who... What they did to you was horrible. It was a kind of torture. You didn't deserve that."

Lance looked down at the floor. "I know that." But his voice wavered. "And I'm not mad that you guys didn't come for me, no matter what Keith might tell you later. I get it. I wasn't even mad when I asked him about it, just trying to figure out... I understand. You were hoping to make an alliance with the Ustarese. You couldn't jeopardize that just because I was upset. You would have come right away if you could."

Shiro's hands clenched into fists, hard and shaking. They _should_ have jeopardized it, they _should_ have... They never should have left Lance there, screaming and crying for help, not for one second longer than they had to, and what had they gained in the end? Nothing, nothing at all. Nothing but a sad, wounded Blue Paladin who felt like he deserved to suffer the worst kind of pain.

"Shiro." A hand touched his. Shiro stared down. Lance's hand, slim and brown and trembling, was curved around the knot of his fist. "No, really, Shiro." And he sounded sure. "I'm over that. It doesn't bother me. I understand. Please don't feel bad about it."

Shiro blew out a breath that broke on a sob. "Then...why?" His voice was broken, too. "If you know that it was just a mistake and you didn't deserve to be punished like that, and if you know that we would have come if we could and we're sorry we didn't... Why are you hurting? What do you feel guilty about?"

Lance's hand trembled harder. If it was just for himself, if Shiro was asking only to find out what was wrong with him, Lance might not answer. But Lance could see that Shiro was suffering, too, and he could not let that be. He had to answer. So he did.

His voice was tiny. Ashamed. Heartbroken. "It's my fault that Blue didn't come. Our bond wasn't strong enough. At the end, that was all I wanted. It was all I called for, over and over again. I just wanted Blue to save me. And she didn't. It was my fault."

Shiro gasped, breathless and agonized. "Lance." He pulled free, and then he was hugging the boy to his chest, as close and warm as he could. They were both shaking, and Lance held his head angled away in shock, unable to respond.

"No, Lance. No." It was all Shiro could think for a long, long moment. Just _no no no no no._ That and _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

He had never meant for this to happen. Never meant for his decision to result in this. This...this was the worst-case scenario. Not only had he hurt Lance, left him to suffer and almost die, but now he thought... He thought... How? How was Shiro ever going to fix this?

"Lance, listen to me." His voice felt as scratched and cracked as his heart. "It wasn't your fault. None of it. The reason Blue didn't come for you... It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm so sorry you feel this way, kiddo. I'm so, so sorry. More sorry than I think I can ever make you understand. Please, please believe me when I say this. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't."

Now Lance's head was resting against his, one hand clenching in the back of Shiro's shirt. He was still stiff in Shiro's hold, unsure how to respond, but he seemed to be listening. Seemed to be holding on with everything he had.

Shiro tightened his grip, marginally encouraged. He drew in a damp, shaking breath, then another, until his breath calmed a little and his voice steadied. "Listen, buddy. I made a bad call. And yes, it was based on bad intel, but that's a poor excuse. I made a bad call, and it hurt you. It almost killed you. I've been wanting to apologize for weeks, but I could never seem to work up the courage. So now, I want you to understand. None of this was your fault. You didn't deserve it. There's nothing wrong with your bond with Blue. The reason you feel guilt and sadness when you try to connect with her... That's because _she_ feels guilty and sad. And that's my fault, too. I'm so, so sorry."

Lance was still in Shiro's arms, his breath coming in rough pants. "I don't...I don't understand."

"I know." Shiro chuckled, though it really wasn't funny. At all. He pulled back slowly, giving Lance time to let go of his shirt, then took his shoulders in his hands and gave him a smile, shaky as it was. "You wanted tips on how to connect with Blue. I'll give you some."

Lance's eyes widened, and he sat there, watching Shiro with a hungry gaze. He wanted this so, so badly.

Shiro pulled in a deep breath, then went on. "When I strengthened my bond with the black lion, I sat in the cockpit and asked for help. And Black answered. We went on a...a kind of journey. Later, I realized that we hadn't moved at all. We were in the hangar the whole time. They were all memories. A kind of vision. It was amazing."

Lance blinked. "So...so I should...ask her?"

Shiro nodded firmly. "Ask her. Sit in the cockpit, make yourself comfortable, and ask Blue to show you what you need to see. What needs to be understood. What needs to be healed. I can't say for sure, but... I think she'll show you a memory. And I think it will help you both."

"Okay." Lance sat back carefully, as if afraid to dislodge Shiro's grip on him. Shiro chuckled, more genuinely this time, and let him go. "Is it... Is it okay if I go do that now?"

Shiro nodded. "Yes, of course. Go. Talk to Blue."

Lance stood up, staring at Shiro with wide eyes as if expecting him to take it back. Shiro smiled. Lance turned and ran.

Shiro watched him go. His hand clenched into a fist and pressed over his heart, trying to rub away the pain. He hoped this worked. Surely it would. Blue loved Lance with all the deep abiding passion that every magic robot lion felt for their pilot. Shiro knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Soon, Lance would know it, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mood music.](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=XUClIslXKZo#Of_Monsters_And_Men_-_Crystals_\(Official_Lyric_Video\)) The lyrics are just great for this chapter.

Lance entered the blue lion's hangar at a run, and then he stumbled to a halt. He stared up at his lion with huge eyes, just taking her in. She really was beautiful. One of the most beautiful sights Lance had ever seen. She rivaled the ocean off Veradera Beach.

"Hey, girl," he said, not even trying to hide the tremble in his voice. "You wanna let me in? I think we need to have a talk."

In the cockpit, he tried to do what Shiro recommended. Tried to make himself comfortable, tried to relax. But his heart was pounding, and even though he'd sat in this chair dozens, maybe hundreds of times by now, he just couldn't seem to find the right way to sit. After a frustrating couple of minutes, he decided to turn sideways and pull his legs up, knees to his chest, temple leaning against the headrest. He took off his shoes and let his socked toes wiggle on the seat. And he curled up a little harder, arms hugging his legs, and closed his eyes.

"C'mon, Blue," he murmured. _"Mi linda._ I'm gonna try not to be afraid anymore. I want to listen. I want to see whatever you have to show me. I won't pull away this time, I promise."

He understood now that that was what he had been doing. Everytime he had tried to connect with Blue, he had touched upon the guilt and sadness in her great soul, mistook it for his own, and pulled back as if he had been burned. Blue must have felt like he was rejecting her, rejecting her feelings, which must have only compounded them. He'd been making it worse without realizing it this whole time.

But he was done being guilty and sad now. Done being ashamed and afraid. Shiro had told him it wasn't his fault, that he shouldn't feel guilty anymore, and Lance had always done everything he could to follow Shiro's commands. Even if he wasn't always the best at it. He wanted to try. He wanted to open himself up to Blue with no barriers, no fear, only trust.

Blue was waiting for him, as always. Her great rumbling purr undergirded the world, a deep current far beneath the surface of the sea. Lance fell into it. He let it pull him under. He took a deep breath, and he let it out.

And he was there. Lance closed his eyes, and he opened them as Blue. They were still in the hangar. He didn't understand. Then he heard through her ears, the echoing of the empty space all around her, the squeaking of the Altean mice in another part of the ship, the voice of Coran on the control deck muttering to himself as he watched from above.

The majority of Blue's attention, though, was focused on the distant voice of her paladin down on the nearby planet. He was doing one of those funny little meeting things. Blue did not understand the purpose of all the meeting and greeting and talking her pilot was often part of. She would much rather be flying, much rather be chasing comets or darting beneath the surface of a world-swallowing ocean to play with the monsters of the deep. But she understood that her paladin had other responsibilities that must be dispatched, even if she had no interest in what they were.

Still, she kept an eye him, always. Now, Lance seemed happy enough. He enjoyed meeting new people and new cultures, even when they were as seemingly stuffy and stuck-up as this one. He enjoyed looking beyond the surface, finding the quirks and absurdities present in every culture. Blue was pleased with Lance's happiness, his eagerness and interest in everything around him.

Then, disaster. Lance reached out to touch a stranger, as he had done many, many times before. He meant no harm by it. He meant only good. Blue, connected to her pilot's soul with a thousand gossamer threads, knew this without question. But this time, this time out of all the many times, Lance was misunderstood.

She felt his shock. Felt his pain. Felt his dismay and anger as the guards drove him to the floor and then took him away. He fought. Of course he did. The Blue Paladin was a warrior of word and deed, and he would not sit by quietly and allow himself to be mistreated. But to no avail. Blue's pilot was locked away, shoved to the floor and left alone in the cold.

He called for help. Blue felt the agitation of the other pilots, and of the Altean princess, too. They were all working for Lance, all fighting to get him back, though it was taking far too long. Coran on the control deck was all but ripping out his hair, running back and forth and digging into the archives for more information on the people of this planet. They were still hoping to salvage the situation, hoping to both bring Lance back unharmed and form a lasting alliance with the strangers who had taken him away. This struck Blue as foolish and naive, but it was not her place to command the others.

On the planet, the black lion called for patience. It was a growl that rippled through the invisible sphere, and Blue held still, though her great joints shook in agitation. She could feel her pilot's distress, feel his emotions degrading from anger to fear. He was losing energy rapidly. He was cold.

He was in pain.

Blue leapt to her feet and roared. Lance was in pain. _Her paladin was in pain._ This could not be borne. It could _not._

Coran shouted into the comms, alerting the others to Blue's activity. The agitation of the other pilots increased. Again the black lion growled, louder than before, but Blue wasn't listening anymore.

Lance called for her, pained and terrified and pierced to his core. He was calling. He needed her. She was going to go and get him out, no matter if worlds upon worlds stood in her way. She would freeze oceans and blast continents and tear cities down, if that was what she needed to do to retrieve her paladin.

Blue leaped out into space and raced toward the planet. The castle tried to bring up a particle barrier to keep her inside, but she dodged through the last open space just as it closed. All of her intentions, all of her being was fixated on the city below, on the range of icy hills and snow-covered glaciers that lined the edge of Ustar's civilization. Her pilot was hurting. Lance was down there, trapped and in pain, and Blue would not allow it to be thus for one tick more. Her gaze was aimed on the far-off beacon of her pilot's presence, and she was aware of nothing else.

Blue was already opening her jaw to let the lasers blast down when something struck her from the side and knocked her off course. They spun through the air, interlocked in screaming disharmony. The black lion, with both the Black Paladin and the Red Paladin in the cockpit. They had intercepted her and kept her from destroying the place where her pilot was suffering.

Blue fought back, desperate and enraged. But without a pilot, she was a creature of pure instinct. She only knew where she wanted to go and why; she cared for nothing else. Black, piloted by an analytical mind and a decisive heart, was able to anticipate her every move and counter it more swiftly than she could attempt it. Bit by bit, Blue was herded away from the city and forced down to land on an icy plateau.

Lance was still crying for her. She could feel him huddled on the icy ground, shaking so hard that he could barely hold himself together. He was hurting. He was _dying._ Blue roared in pain and rage and desperation. Her claws dug into the ice beneath her and propelled her forward, but Black blocked her way. She spun, tail whipping for balance, and charged again, and again the black lion cut her off.

She screamed in his face, but Black stood tall and regal and adamant. They wouldn't let her go to her pilot. _They were going to let Lance die._ And Blue, on her own, could not counter the black lion. It wasn't even close to a fair fight. She tried again, and again, driven by instinct and fury, only to be driven away every time.

At last, Black finished the fight. A final leap, a lithe pounce on the ice, and he dropped on Blue from above and pinned her to the ground. Blue fought, but Black was too heavy. She could not raise his mighty bulk, though she tried, joints straining, wires popping, ice cracking and creaking and shattering in shards beneath her massive paws. Lance was dying. Lance was _dying._ Why didn't they understand? Why wouldn't they let her save him?

It didn't matter. She couldn't rise. She couldn't escape. She couldn't save her pilot. In the end, Blue had failed, brought down by the only entity in the universe that could have made her pause even for a moment. She subsided on the ice and was still. If she'd had blood, she would have been bleeding, letting it pool around her in a bright and terrible flow. As it was, only cracked and broken ice surrounded her, and she could do nothing. 

Lance was dying, and she couldn't save him. Blue had failed, and she would mourn this failure for the rest of her existence, no matter how long that might be. She felt Black's regret and sadness, too, but it was nothing beside her own.

Then, new sounds. Shouting on the comms. The stranger Lance had offended with his touch said something that roused to a frenzy the other pilots, the princess, the advisor, all and each together. Horror and grief and anger and fear charged the atmosphere like an electrical storm, and Blue heard and felt the movement of the others.

Her pilot was silent in his cell, nearly unconscious on the ice. But the Yellow Paladin was running to find him, bowling down every guard who had not yet heard the order to stand down from the priestess and dared to stand in his way. The Altean princess was yelling in the anteroom, held back only by the slim strength of the Green Paladin dragging on her arm.

Black and Red, Shiro and Keith, were the most horrified of all. They had only meant to defend an innocent city. They hadn't meant to sentence their companion to death. At last, Black's tremendous bulk was lifted from Blue, but she was unable to rise. A connection had been torn in her final desperate push, perhaps several, and she would need time to recover. But now, she knew the others were moving, so she could afford to be broken. Just for a time.

All her perceptions focused on Lance. She felt when Hunk found him and lifted him, felt his pain and despair, and her mighty heart yearned to reassure him. But she had failed. She had given her all, and she had not been able to save him. She lay there in the ice and let it be.

Lance blew out a slow, shuddering breath, and he opened his eyes. "You did that," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "You did all that. For me. You ran away from the castle. For me. You fought your leader. For me. You would have torn down the city and ripped apart that jail. For me."

 _All that and more,_ the sense of Blue told him, though it did not come in words. It was deeper than words. It was the depths of the darkest sea.

Lance couldn't prevent the shiver that passed over his shoulders, but he nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Blue. Thank you so much."

Fear and hope and gratitude and guilt.

"No." Lance shook his head. He reached out and stroked his fingers over the back of the pilot's chair he was curled up in. "No more guilt. No more sadness. Not for either of us. I'm glad Black kept you from destroying that city. Yeah, the Ustarese were jerks, but there were a lot of innocent people there. A lot of them have to suffer under that cruel justice system, too. We shouldn't make their lives any harder."

Love, deep and strong and abiding. Lance laughed a little wetly and swiped at his eyes. "Yeah, I love you too, _linda._ You're the best. You didn't fail me. I bet because you were fighting so hard, the others realized something was really wrong. They might not have, if it wasn't for that. They might not have asked the right questions to figure out what that priestess meant when she said 'punishment.' Or if they did, it might not have been in time. You saved me. You did. No more guilt, now. Neither of us deserve it."

Blue purred, and Lance smiled and snuggled deeper into the pilot's chair. "Yeah, I'll stay for a while. Thanks, darling."

He was going to have to leave eventually. He needed to discuss this with Shiro and Keith and make sure they didn't feel guilty anymore either. Allura too. He needed to thank Hunk and Coran and Pidge for all of their love and support. He was going to give them all the biggest hugs he could manage, and he was going to pet the mice, and eat Hunk's food, and play video games, and get some sleep, and train with Keith, and talk to Coran, and thank Shiro for the advice. He was going to do a lot of things.

But for now, he would sit here with Blue. Here, he was happy, and content, and warm, and loved. Blue purred, and he knew that she was, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, we're done! I considered doing another chapter of wrap-up with the rest of the crew, but I honestly think it would be extraneous at this point. Blue and Lance are together again, and they understand each other, and that's what matters. No, Lance's insecurity issues are not resolved, and Lance and Allura probably need to have a talk, and Shiro needs a half dozen hugs, and all kinds of things. But the boy and his lion are content for the moment, and sometimes that's the best you can get in a time of war.
> 
> Here's to lots more S2-based angst in the future! I'm sure there will be plenty of it. This was just the very first idea that popped into my brain. I know there are others waiting in the wings.
> 
> Thank you for all of your support! I treasure every kudos and subscription and comment and bookmark, I truly do. I hope you found this ending satisfying. Feel free to let me know.


End file.
